The End Of Many Things
by Mirlo Wonting
Summary: Harry realises the choice he must make in his final battle.


The End Of Many Things  
  
The Great Hall was quiet for this, Harry's seventh year farewell feast, black drapes hanging solemnly in the place of the usual house banners. Students and teachers alike were still in shock from the Headmaster's death just a few days ago. McGonagal herself had insisted on the feast - she seemed to think it fitting for Dumbledore's memory. But all the House tables were subdued, none more so than the Gryffindors. Almost empty too - many students had fled the school after learning of the Headmasters death; convinced, despite the added Ministry security, that it was only a matter of time before... before the school was shut by someone else. Permanently. Voldemort would not allow another power base against him to form.

Harry stared at the goulash on his plate, reliving again the scene burned into his memory. It was like a roll of film he couldn't shut off, while awake or in his dreams. Could he have done something different? There had been no Fawkes that day to deflect the undeflectable. No spell known could stop Avada Kedavra. Few people even got the chance to try. Harry had survived it once, true. Twice really, though it was the phoenix that had saved him that day in the graveyard, much like he had watched Fawkes save Dumbledore once in the Ministry of Magic. But..not again. _Try not to think about it_, Harry told himself. Harry would have given anything not to see those familiar, parental blue eyes filmed in death, a death gladly given to protect the others.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione murmured. She and Ron had talked quietly for the last ten minutes about what they could do next to help the Order now that they had finished Hogwarts. Harry hadn't joined in. "You seem very quiet."

He nodded absently. Something about the Hall tonight was suggesting ideas to him...he could almost sense the process of his thoughts..._something about the phoenix and...Albus Dumbledore_...it was the first night he'd really thought about Dumbledore's end, confronted it head on. And also, the farewell feast, it made him look back over the years at Hogwarts. See the patterns, the eddies of misfortune and malice, friendship and fate, that had shaped who he was. He got a sudden, sharp longing for the Pensieve, to help him sort out his thoughts, but it was locked away in Dumbledore's office now. McGonagall didn't go up there, it was whispered. It would take her many years to finally accept her new role as Headmistress fully to herself, whatever the ridiculous Ministry formally voted on.

But he was being diverted again, frustrated he concentrated once more..trying as hard as he could to sink into his thoughts, not view the process dispassionately, which always interfered with his thinking. The Hall around him became distant, the babble of voices low and soothing. It felt like wheels were turning furiously in his head, lighting on obscure magic theory...._dark defense_..._his scar_..._the phoenix, always back to the phoenix_...what it represented..to him, to Dumbledore.

Unnoticed, his fork clattered from his hand as shockingly, the puzzle Harry had never realised was there, never even knew he was unconsciously trying to solve all this time, suddenly unravelled like a flower to the dawn. His scalp prickled as his hair at the back of his neck stood up, and a feeling of wonder rushed down his spine as he finally understood what Dumbledore had been trying to indirectly show him from the first, his choice, the prophecy.

Ron, anxiously watching his best friend and sharing worried glances with Hermione, was amazed to see a slow smile gradually spread over Harry's face as he continued to stare off into middle distance. A strange feeling of power swept out across the tables, Ron saw heads turn in spite of themselves, and the low murmur of conversation stalled. _They felt it too_, thought Ron. A low, warm feeling seemed to spread out around the Hall from Harry, as though for a moment he was a mirror reflecting something brilliant shining from above. As he basked in the warm feeling, he saw his friend suddenly focus, pulling back from where he had lost himself, focus himself to a higher pitch than even Ron had ever seen him hit.

Harry's voice was low, controlled and powerful, he leaned towards Ron and Hermione, "I've...worked something out...Voldemort.." He seemed to hesitate.

"He's on his way. I challenged him.. through the scar. I worked that out, too. He'll come," Harry said quietly. (Hermione gasped) "You must listen."

Strongly. "I must face him alone. He will try to bait you. I can't fight him if you stand with me, I can't focus as I must."

"NO WAY, MATE!" shouted Ron, shocked. Heads turned. Up at the staff table, McGonagall looked up sharply.

"You must," said Harry, softly. "You know the prophecy, now. You must trust me."

He stood up, and put a hand on each of their shoulders. Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes. "This is crazy, Harry, you don't know..." but she tailed off. She was speaking to his back.

Harry Potter made his way around the Gryffindor table, most of whom were looking at him with a mixture of unabashed curiosity and shock. He walked alone to the centre of the Great Hall, gathering himself. Talking had stopped almost entirely now, half the hall were watching him in silence. There was nervous laughter and hissing from the Slytherin table.

He looked down at the ground, oblivious to the stares, and focussed, ignoring the pains shooting with greater frequency from his scar.

McGonagall had stood up. "Potter, what do you think you are DOING!". Harry ignored her, too.

Suddenly, a huge chilling peal, like an enormous invisible bell, resonated through the Great Hall. The staff members at the Head Table gasped with shock, McGonagal whispered "Heavens", fumbling for her wand, pale as a ghost. But they were too late. Even this great protection, laid by the founders themselves (it was said), had failed. Voldemort hadn't managed to stop it, but he did manage to delay it just long enough. The doors to the Great Hall smashed open with shocking violence, and a team of Death Eaters were raining _Stupefy_ and _Expelliarmus_ spells before the shocked Staff could even think of organising a resistance. _So much for the Ministry Cordon,_ thought Harry distantly.

Harry barely registered the activity. His attention had finally found a focus, Voldemort himself. His Death Eaters disarmed and covered both the staff and students. The students sat, immobilised by fear. A few had gone for their wands, foolishly, and were now out cold, many at the Gryffindor table. At least he hoped they were only out cold. Harry noted with a pang the familiar red hair of Ron amongst them. He fervently wished he was OK.

The students watched, spirits completely broken and terrified, rapt and horrified. Dead silence slid over the Hall. All eyes watched Harry, still standing upright, looking down at the flagstones. He hadn't moved as the Death Eaters began their rampage and had escaped their attention.

"Well, well. Harry Potter." said Voldemort in that thin cold voice of his. Standing in the doorway of the Great Hall. Finally, it was here. _He_ was here. Stalking towards Harry across the Great Hall. "My so-called Downfall" he added softly.

Harry concentrated on the shield in his mind. This was the first part of the problem. Voldemort, accomplished Occlumens, couldn't be allowed to read what was to happen. This was a tricky bit, maintaining the shield without arousing Voldemort's suspicion. What to say...his mind worked furiously...Aaah...

"It was a mistake to come here tonight, Tom."

For a millisecond Voldemort recoiled from the focussed fury of that voice, then recovered. Harry doubted if anyone else could have picked up on his momentary uncertainity. But he was bonded to Voldemort, however much he detested their connection. Iron links made of fate, hate and magic, stronger than mere blood now.

"Yet you called me, Harry. The pain you sent. The message. Do you finally tire of hiding at your cursed Mother's relations? You are now aware that nothing can save you from your death?"

Harry was surprised to feel a faint smile appear on his face.

"This will end tonight, Tom," he replied.

A silence. "But, then we must observe the correct duelling etiquette," a familiar sneer twisting his features. "I have kindly preserved an audience for a little while longer," replied Voldemort, indicating the stunned Teachers and students in a gesture. "Is that not..generous of me?"

"Perhaps you are relying on _Priori Incantetum_ to save you once more? You'll be pleased to know I nullified that particular nuisance before setting out tonight. A little charm of my own devising. " Voldemort said. Confidence and malicious glee shone out of his dark visage, smiling his thin knife blade smile which never reached his cruel red eyes. "You have your wand?"

In answer Harry held out his right hand, palm upwards. He concentrated, and his wand appeared, spinning in mid air an inch above his palm, wreathed in golden light. He let the spell go, and deftly caught the wand as it fell, still rotating, down to his right hand. A charm of _his_ own devising, invented on the spur of the moment. _Must keep him distracted.  
  
_

"Then you die as your father did," spat Voldemort. Another momentary flash of his eyes had shown just how disconcerted he was. This was part of it. Keeping him off balance. Harry needed a lengthy duel. He needed to anticipate when Avada Kedavra would be launched. His nerves felt keyed up. His concentration and focus was such that he was hardly aware of his body at all. He felt as though he _was_ the wand, the phoenix core that was the heart of the magic, his body, his mind like a hand he directed without thinking, his incantations coming straight from his soul and shouted in his voice without need of planning or thought.

"Bow then, Harry. Bow to your death again." said Voldemort, harshly. Harry stood, wand at his side, then raised it into the duelling stance, face clear of any visible emotion.

For a second they looked at each other. Then Voldemort acted first. "_He's too fast_" Harry thought, even as he felt distantly the first pain spread from the impact of the Crucio spell. But this time he would not fall, twitching to the floor. Harry summoned the pain, embraced it, and felt it fall away around him. What was a pain such as this compared to losing Sirius?

"You tempered me in that flame before, Tom. It cannot hurt me now." Even as he spoke the words he was summoning the energy, following the thought forms of his counter spell. Without even needing the formal chanting he flourished his wand, sending a charge of force that rippled the expectant air of the Great Hall and made every witch and wizard watching wince or gape in awe at the focussed power. But Voldemort was ready, however shocked at Harry's contemptous throwing off of the Crucio curse. Seven green serpents spun out of the compass points of the end of his wand, engulfing Harry's magic as it sped towards Voldemort, biting, consuming, fangs bared, the magic within. They fell, bloated, to the floor and slithered suddenly towards Harry.

_Train yourself until you can react to the situation without thought. Never be where you are assumed to be, don't do what they expect you to do, and always turn defense into attack_. Flitwick's instruction had shaped and honed the natural talent within Harry to an astonishing edge.

"**_RELATCHIO MAJESTA!_**" chanted Harry, his mind already anticipating the move ahead, watching Voldemort, who was likewise reacting to Harry's spell before its effects were even visible.

Flames of deep purple and silver raced from Harry's wand, down to the floor and through the serpents, turning them to ash even as they moved to attack, continuing in power and danger towards Voldemort, before dashing against a conjured moving wall of ice horses, galloping towards Harry with the weight of icebergs bearing down on a ship, glaciers carving out a valley.

Harry cursed a short fragmentation spell and with one wand movement blew apart all four horses in cascading chips of ice, then refined the end of the fragmentation spell with an old impediment jinx, which sneaked under Voldemorts guard, distracting his spell casting and pushing him back several paces. He had to be slowed slightly.

Harry easily defended against the weakened concussion jinx aimed at his head, and began to walk towards Riddle, just as he had watched Dumbledore walk towards him two years ago.

"School boy tricks" muttered Voldemort contemptously. Harry continued to smile faintly. A brief lull in the duel gave them both a time to look at each other and take stock. Harry continued to move towards Voldemort, who took a few hesitant steps backwards before standing firm.

"_Pride is his weakness. He will not back away, even when it would be better to do so, in fear of how it would look._" Even as Voldemort seemed to falter, Harry felt a renewed mental attack through his scar. Had he been entirely unprotected, the pain in his scar would have had him on his knees. But the defense was holding. "_Sirius_." he thought, "_Albus. Colin. James. Peter. Lily. Alasdair."_ Strengthening it further.

As the distance between them closed, the danger grew. Harry knew he was taking a risk, knew he was giving himself less time to respond to Voldemort and his tricks. But Harry's reaction speed was uncanny, a fact that Malfoy junior had discovered many times that year to his cost.

"Potter, you begin to bore me." _Watch him_, thought Harry. "You..**_FROTREKLOS!!_**" As Voldemort began the word, he changed it, convinced he had this child off guard, that he would die listening to polite conversation. A deep beam of purple light flew smoking from Voldemorts wand towards Harry, who swivelled smoothly, raising his wand to deflect it upwards as it passed him. There were other people in this Hall, after all.

Harry had gotten close enough. This was dangerous, but he needed it. He desrved it. As Harry drew near, Voldemort had conjured up a dense barrier between them, an advantage Harry quickly copied. Their shields met with a hiss, and a smell of ozone. Spells began to fly back and forth, incantations yelled from mere metres apart, as Harry and Voldemort exchanged curses. The connection between them deepened, as each sought to read the next move of the other, reacting so fast as to counter spells before they appeared. Pyrotechnic charms flew off at crazy angles, slamming into the ground beneath their feet, blasting upwards to be lost in the enchanted sky. Harry waited for an opening then, heedless of magic, of jinx and counter jinx, he threw himself at Voldemort and put 17 years of misery, of ill treatment and fury into a punch that connected painfully but satisfyingly with Voldemort's right cheekbone, hurling him to the ground and shocking him beyond belief. He had expected magic. He wasn't prepared for a good dose of muggle retribution. Harry retreated quickly, hopping back with the oddly graceful and deceptive charm-augmented steps Flitwick had shown him, deeply satisfied but still foccussed. He owed Voldemort that. He owed himself that.

Voldemort had had enough. Harry's scar throbbed a warning, as he had hoped it would. "**_AV.._**" began Voldemort and focussed, keyed, Harry began what he had prepared all along. Together, their voices merged; one shouting out the black, the silver and the green, the awful **_AVADA KEDAVRA_**; Harry's yelling, matching it syllable for syllable, the spell that just a few minutes ago had unfurled fully formed and perfect in his mind... **_PHORESCO HELIOS!_** As the awful green light lurched from Voldemorts wand and sped towards Harry it was met, slowed, stopped by a gushing fountain of golden red light that seemed to embody both water and fire, sparking at the edges with a suggestion of feathers, an astonishing exclamation, a distillation of the power of life, hope and love over mere misery and death. It was a startling refutation of everything Voldemort believed and stood for, expressed in the majestic magic of the Phoenix, dying and replenishing itself a thousand times every second. It was pure Harry, concentrated and refined to take out the human jealousies and unkind thoughts. It was a fountaining fire of Patronuses, of joy and purity, and everyone in the hall could feel it rise up through their skin and bring tears to their eyes. **_YES!_** they thought as one, entranced, enchanted.

_Blocking isn't enough,_ thought Harry, and he concentrated, as he had never done before, not even two years ago in the graveyard, and furiously pushed the glorious mass of flame and light, power and majesty, until the deadly green thread of Avada Kedavra was pushed back, hemmed in, routed further and further until utterly broken.

Harry's spell engulfed Voldemort and threw him off the ground, pushing him back with a despairing yell high against the wall of the Great Hall and held him there, charring the stone behind into a glassy reflective finish that would hold the silhouette of the worlds most dreaded wizard for an eternity. _This is it,_ thought Harry. _What I must do._ And in his head, in his clear and shocking purity of concentration he flicked at his spell, the gentlest of touches to uncover its aspect of Transfiguration, which, like a lit fuse, raced from his wand in a fountain of deepest red and black, overturning the tone of the spell all along its length, transforming, building to a crescendo, until it reached Voldemort, surrounding him. For a second all was still, Voldemort pinned high against the wall, engulfed in Phoenix flame, Harry holding him there with a look of furious determination. Then suddenly, with impossible acceleration, Voldemort flew back from the wall down the length of the spell like a thrown puppet, flailing helplessly, kicking with hatred, directly at Harry, through Harry, into Harry.

Hermione, thinking, _he's going to win he's going to win,_ as she watched Harry's impossibly beautiful spell pin Voldemort, saw a flash of red and gold travel up it and felt a chime that resonated right through her..and screamed as Voldemort flew right into Harry..knocking him off his feet, both disappearing in a cloud of warm light...

Ron, raising a groggy head, saw his best friend surrounded by a halo of singing light...which abruptly changed, deepening in green and gold, red and black...

The Death Eaters, watching aghast, saw their master pinned by the terrible, damned, mercurial Potter, unable to move even to aid him had they known how, and saw him fly back into Potter with a scream, into a golden magma of red and black....

McGonagal, unguarded now but totally transfixed by what she was witnessing, felt the transfiguration change in the incredible spell, the one that sang to her Potter, that he had somehow projected and given form from what she dimly saw was inside him, and recognised the change. She was a transfiguration teacher after all. Her face went paler...too late to stop it...no, too late. _Why must one boy give so much?  
  
_

Harry felt him coming and summoned his will. _Albus. Ginny. Sirius. James. Lily. Colin. Albus. Alasdair._ The impact shook him, though they never touched. A flare of pain like nothing before he had ever endured in seven painful and uplifting years... _Sirius... James..... Lily.....Ginny....  
  
_

The molten residue of the pinning spell, the golden counter, held in the air still, seeming almost to look around at them all. The spectators in the hall looked at the crumpled figure in the spot Harry had been moments before. The one figure. Of the other there was no sign. The Great Hall erupted with teared cheers as it stirred, moved its long arms and legs and finally stood up. When the crowd saw it, the cheers cut off abruptly. Too tall for Harry..surely. The figure bunched its fists, which were shaking badly. Hermione burst into a terrified sob.

It stood, seemingly mastering itself, and in Harry's voice said to them abruptly "Both Harry and Tom are dead. There is only me." Eyes which rapidly changed from deep green to red flashed at them all, before settling down slowly to a familiar bright green, flecked with peculiar specks suggesting orange.

"This was the only way."

"Master!" shouted a terrified Death Eater.

He turned. Softly. "Not any more" He raised his wand and the pieces of the Death Eaters wands rained from their hands, each broken cleanly in two. "You will pay for your crimes against the innocent." He looked unsure down at his wand, for a second it seemed his vision had doubled, with two wands tightly coiled around each other, Holly and Yew, lying in his right hand.

"When I die, at last he will truly die, locked in mortality with me. He will not trouble the world anymore."

In the fearful glances at him even from former friends, what used to be Harry could see plainly his future. Tried? Maybe. Punished? Possibly. Shunned and feared, despised and hated? Certainly. He permitted himself a tight smile and said "I must leave. I have certain...tasks to do, or rather undo." His gaze lingered on the Gryffindor table.

"HARRY! What are you playing at?" Ron sounded on the verge of tears. "You can't just leave. You've got to stay..." He trailed off under Harry's stare. It was very different from the one he knew. Dispassionate. Adult. So very old already.

"I am not Harry, anymore than I am Voldemort. My old friends. Your friend is dead and I am so sorry."

Gathering himself, he visualised the Entrance hall of the Ministry, and performed the Apparation spell, felt it straining against the ancient Hogwarts ward and, with a ripple of the very world around him, pushed his will, his newly doubled power, painfully through and beyond the ward, disappearing into the air around him with a thunderclap.

Back in the Great Hall there was a stunned, uncomprehending silence. The students looked in wonder at the residue of the golden counterspell, still gleaming in a seething path from where Harry and Voldemort had stood, and at the silhouette of Voldemort frozen in the glassy stone, which was burnt into phoenix shape. _A side effect of the spell_ thought Hermione dazedly, tears cascading down her face. The dark wizard trapped in the phoenix, set forever in Hogwarts stone.. She turned to her best friend, her love, and said "We lost, Ron. _We lost_." As a wail forced its way out of her chest, as Ron drew her into a rough hug, tears in his own eyes, the golden counter changed one last time. From wherever he was, Harry had pulled the final string. IT HAD TO BE THIS WAY, it spelled out in shimmering letters of gold before fading entirely into the air around it.


End file.
